


Fireworks.

by PrismaticDelight



Category: Original Work, The Amberwood Series
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrismaticDelight/pseuds/PrismaticDelight
Summary: A glimpse into the past of Amberwood's MC's parents...
Relationships: Leslie and Carter
Kudos: 4





	Fireworks.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, while watching clips from FFXV Kingsglaive, I was inspired by Nyx and Luna. I will go down with that ship and highly prefer that Luna model to the one in game. Still bitter about the cancelled episodes. In my inspiration, all I could see was Carter and Leslie, so here is a oneshot focused on a moment of their past…  
> Apologies for any errors I may have missed.

Leslie’s reflection stares dully back at her, in fact, all three of them do. Sat at her vanity, her mother gently pulls a gilded silver comb through her daughter’s hair. The two could be clones, save for the aging vs youthful features. They were dressed similarly, too; draped in long blush gowns with delicate floral appliques and lace. Leslie doesn’t care much for the color, but it hardly matters. It’s all for appearance. The dress comes from foreign designer with a name she can’t begin to pronounce in her head _or_ aloud. It’s stunning, and surprisingly comfortable, yet still useless when she reminds herself the dress serves the purpose of making her look pretty. That’s why her face is caked in make-up, no matter how “light” her sisters claimed was, and her hair is being styled into something complicated.

Or it at least felt that way. She watches her mother set the comb down in exchange for a thin hair-tie, pulling back enough hair away from her face. Tugged and set with the tie, Leslie continued to watch as best she could. It gives her something else to look at. More bits of hair are taken and woven through as if French braiding. When all is said and done, and Leslie is allowed to twist in the bench of her vanity to look, she almost snorts to find her hair resembling a inverted bow. At least the curls cascading from beneath looked nice. She always forgets how something as simple as a few curls or waves can make a difference…

Then again, Leslie aims for practicality whenever possible. “It looks lovely, Mom.” She murmurs upon facing the older woman.

The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “Of course it does. You’d probably have a boyfriend by now if you stopped making yourself look so… haggard.”

Right. Even her mother looks put together, not a hair out of place or eyelash left uncurled. Leslie decides not to reply.

“Now then!” Mom claps her hands, spinning away on her toes to strut through the room. Despite growing up in it, it still feels impossibly large for a single person. “Remember, you’re meeting the Fairwin’s and their oldest son. Let’s not repeat what happened last month with the Walcasters.”

The memory flashes by. Leslie grinds her teeth, promptly dismissing it. It left her with nightmares for a few days. She doesn’t need to linger on it any further.

A sharp knock has the two women perking up and eyeballing the door; Mom strides to answer it. In doing so, Leslie deflates, seeing that it’s only her father.

“Ah, wonderful. Everything is going as planned.” Mom sighs contentedly. She gives Leslie a final glance. “Make sure you’re ready in half an hour, do what you must. One of your sisters will come fetch you.”

“Wonderful…” murmurs the teenage girl to herself. If her mother heard it, she chose not to comment. Slipping out of the room, the door shuts with a gentle click and Leslie is left alone to gaze at her room.

Her ever so impersonal personal space. Borderline gaudy with the soft blue marble floors and walls that become so cold in the winter that she might as well be walking on ice. They have heating, yet she thinks it isn’t turned on solely just to torture her, to see what she might do to stay warm. Which is crawl into bed.

The bed standing tall on a wide dais by the door. Her towering dresser and closet just beside it. There are a few paintings hanging on the walls, but she hasn’t a clue why. They’re portraits of late family members all staring in their perpetual emptiness and distaste for the youngest child. She’s taken them down before, only for her father to lecture/scold her for a handful of hours. So, the next time they bothered her, she flipped them. The old man was just as angry.

He can never be pleased. No one in this family can, yet somehow, Leslie’s tasteless sisters are perfect little angels. It’s like she’s stuck in a new adaptation of Cinderella. Only there isn’t a fairy god mother or pumpkin carriage, no prince to whisk her away or glass slipper that fits solely on her foot.

Unless Leslie were to fill those roles herself.

She isn’t sure if that’s something she wants to do. Not now, not ever.

Coming to stand, the young girl strolls across her room, each solid tap of her heels and shifting fabric as it dragged behind a constant reminder of what tonight was. Utter torture, she labeled it, a pointless endeavor. A show of wealthy elitist parents showing off their kids like prize dogs.

Leslie comes to a wall of glass in bronze frames, allowing view over the courtyard of her house. That damn thing. It really screams how pretentious her family truly is to have a full-sized maze and garden while still having more than enough space for an enormous party. And that isn’t including her labyrinth of a house.

Her hands push upon the glass until they gently ease away, giving her access to the balcony and chilly air. She’ll need at least a shawl if she’s going to be outside all evening.

Holding onto the stone rail, she leans over the edge just enough to feel a hint of weightlessness and takes a long, steady breath. Down below two floors, she sees the guests mingling, her parents greeting each and every one, her sisters likely following suit. It might as well be another world.

Another knock sounds, solid and heavy; just loud enough for her to hear. Leslie whips upright then turns on her toes, facing her bedroom. “Come in.” She calls, knowing who the knock belongs to.

The door opens gingerly, revealing an ever familiar face emerging from the light of the hall. Stepping into the room is a boy about her age, miraculously built like a solider, dressed in a flawless powder blue and white uniform with silver embellishments. Puberty has been kind to him unlike many others their age Leslie knows, including herself. For once, Hollywood would be accurate to cast a fully-grown adult man to play a teenager.

His face is shaped out, his eyes seem sure and confident, his shoulders and chest are wide. If only he could share whatever luck he’s having, maybe Leslie would, as her mother said, have a boyfriend by now. A secure line to keeping the “pureblood” family strong.

But perhaps more importantly was the fact he was here at all. It takes a decent amount of effort to keep herself rooted, clutching the rail tighter lest she dash to greet him. “What are you doing here?” Except she sounds far more breathless than she would like.

Not the kind of breathless as though she’d ran a few miles or had the air knocked out of her. No… it was… of a different sort.

“Ah, you know, I couldn’t stop myself from greeting the birthday girl.” The boy chuckles warmly as he steps through the glass doors, onto the balcony, and finds his place in front of her. His eyes glimmer with restrained kindness. “You still clean up better than I do, princess.”

Leslie crinkles her nose up at him. She somehow forgot how much taller he is than her, having to tilt her head back to see his face comfortably. “You’ve come to tease me.”

“I’ve come to make sure you’re still sane.” He shrugs with a growing smirk. “By way of teasing.”

She also forgot how much she missed _this_. His gentle aura, his easy presence. A proper outsider to her bizarre life that keeps her grounded. “It’s nice to see you too, Carter.”

He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut as his eyes flicked away, trailing up the sky. Leslie’s brows begin to pinch when she notices his face is softly illuminated in one second, followed by a solid boom high above their heads. It startles her into spinning around in time to catch a flurry of fireworks rocketing into the night sky.

“Well, look at that… Pretty fancy for a party.” Carter says, now coming to stand beside the girl.

“I don’t recall fireworks being a part of this.”

“You mean they don’t normally light up the sky for you in your honor?”

A touch amused, Leslie laughs and shakes her head. “No, they don’t. Even this ‘party’ is a unusual.” But she suspects it’s because she’s turning eighteen. How wonderful.

Carter allows himself to gaze at Leslie’s profile through the corner of his eyes. Her smile gradually fading much like the dazzling lightshow that curtains off their view of the stars. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look away in time to avoid being caught staring.

“What?” Forehead creased; her lips press tight into each other.

He’s just shy of talking himself out of a reply, pushing out his chest in one breath and tucking his arms behind his back in another. “It’s been a while since you’ve laughed.”

Leslie quirks a brow, “Excuse you, I laugh all the time.”

“Honestly?”

When their eyes meet again, Leslie stiffens prior to whipping her head forward. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Walcaster situation,” he calmly replies.

“I saw you being dragged out of the room that night.”

“Oh, I got one hell of a lecture about how I ought to remember my place, that I need to be grateful they hired someone like me, blah blah blah. Your father I can handle, it’s your mother that concerns me.”

“The quiet storm,” Leslie mused. The final crack in the sky sparkles above, a few cheers erupt from below, the easily entertained. “I take it she was the one who allowed you to come back…?”

Carter nods. “I just had to keep my distance. Technically, I’m still supposed to. If they saw me this close, I’d probably get a few lashes.” He chuckles to soften his words, yet it does nothing for Leslie who has learned not to question what her parents will and won’t do when it comes to certain things.

“In that case—” taking the initiative, the young woman starts to take a large step aside; as large as her dress will allow anyway. But Carter is quicker, grabbing her forearm a gently as he could, jerking her into a sudden halt. He doesn’t look at her, whereas she eyes where their skin meets.

His hand swallows her arm. His grasp is far too gentle for a man his size and strength. A gentle giant, someone might say. Someone like one of Leslie’s sisters fawning over him.

She doesn’t say anything just yet but rather, eases herself back into his orbit, if not a little closer than before. Close enough where their arms could brush if they moved the right way. He never let go.

“The Walcaster family are down there, and I glossed over the guest list. You’ll likely run into you know who.” Carter’s voice is low, somewhat melodic despite the gravelly sort of bass within.

“I’ll see Voldemort?” Leslie can’t keep herself from snickering.

His mouth twitches, “You’d give him a run for his money, I wouldn’t be concerned if it were him instead.” The hand holding her arm squeezes gently during their brief but punctual silence. “I could escort you.”

“…You said you’re not supposed to be near me.”

“You can tell them you want me to be.” Carter turns his face to her etching itself deeper into raw wariness. “Am I not supposed to protect you? That’s the reason your parents didn’t cut off my head the second they saw me, isn’t it?”

Leslie swallows thickly. “I can’t just… tell them that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Leslie.”

“Not in this family.” She averts her eyes to the ground below where she then falls silent. Carter does too, mostly out of respect lest he piss her off. Her family certainly is bizarre, he’ll give her that.

The two of them stare at the guests, with Leslie knowing in any second now, she’ll hear her sister’s nasal voice barking orders to follow her like an aimless pup. Her heart leaps in her chest at the thought of having to see certain faces again as her parents try to “subtly” play matchmaker. Playing along ensures her survival in the long run. But it’s driving her insane with each passing hour.

How much longer until she loses herself completely? How long will it take for her to drown?

Carter’s hand on her arm inches down the length, fingertips grazing the palm in question. For once, Leslie doesn’t hesitate, turning her hand into his as her invitation. Their fingers lace between one another and her eyes slide shut. His skin is rough; worn and tired. She feels a slight indent of an old scar somewhere in the palm.

If she had a choice of who to stand besides, she wouldn’t mind this boy. At least with him, she knows he’d be patient and forgiving. Unlike the others her parents want her to be with. Everything would be a competition or sport. If Leslie gave the man children, they too would be pitted against one another.

What sort of life is that besides demanding, hollow, and pitiful?

Why should she be expected to uphold it for the sake of magickal prowess?

In truth… she shouldn’t be.

Leslie’s eyes flutter open to the sky, catching a twinkle of one particularly bright. It would be her guiding light this evening. “I’ll go as planned… if you can, keep to the shadows. I doubt anything eventful will happen but, it’d give me some peace in mind.” _To look over anyone’s shoulder and see you and know I’m safe,_ she almost said aloud. Good thing she didn’t.

Carter gives a hint of a smile in her peripherals. “If nothing else, you can sneak into the maze with me and talk smack about everyone. I like judging others for their fashion sense, or lack thereof.”

Another laugh rings clear and true from the girl whilst squeezing his hand subconsciously. “Tempting, truly. I’ll keep it in mind, so long as you manage to steal a few drinks along the way.”

“Consider it done, princess.”


End file.
